


Obscurus

by Lamenta



Series: Graduum libertatis [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: (kind of), Angst, Cave-In, M/M, Merrill saves the day, Not Really Character Death, Prompt Fill, Slow Build, Unresolved Emotional Tension, coming to terms, never trust Carta dwarves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 09:46:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3724315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lamenta/pseuds/Lamenta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once again inspired by another prompt<br/>http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/11381.html?thread=45729653#t45729653</p><p>A cave collapses and Anders and Fenris get separated from the rest of their companions. Fenris soon realizes that is not the only problem they have to face and time is running out for Anders - and them.</p><p>A follow-up to Exsupero (http://archiveofourown.org/works/3701681)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A loud explosion and Varric’s frantic shouting was the only warning Fenris got before moaning and creaking sounds turned his attention to the stony ceiling above. Dust got into his eyes and the elf cursed when it took away his vision, making him tear up.

Then the rumbling started and the ground Fenris stood on shook violently. Varric was still shouting but Fenris could barely make out the words over the noise. Something hard and heavy hit his left foot, tearing a surprised, pained shout from his throat, before he felt a strong push and tumbled backwards, still not able to see anything. 

His back hit the ground hard, the impact driving the air out of his lungs. Fenris gasped, then immediately coughed then the dusty air attacked his airways. Something cool and comforting washed over his body, making his toes and fingertips tingle comfortably and the pain in his foot subsided.

And then there was silence.

With a grunt, Fenris rolled to his left side, rubbing frantically over his eyes before slowly cracking one open. For a moment, he panicked when his vision was completely black, his eyes only slowly adapting to the darkness surrounding him. Eventually, he could make out schemes, dust glittering as it slowly sank to the ground. His ears caught the sound of Varric still yelling; calling the elf’s name. The dwarf’s voice was muffled.

“Fasta vass,” the elf cursed as he slowly got back on his feet. In the dark, he finally spotted a wall of boulders where he’d been standing only moments before. Hands roamed the cold stone, pushing occasionally to see if something would give. “Varric?”

“Elf!”

Fenris actually sighed in relief.

“The cave collapsed.”

“Tell me something I don’t know”, Fenris shot back dryly. 

“We don’t know where everyone is.” Varric sounded concerned. Varric never was concerned, at least not enough to let it color the tone of his voice. “Stay where you are. We’ll get you out of there. Hawke? Hawke!”

Another sigh escaped Fenris. Now that his elven eyes had fully adapted to the darkness, he was able to look around and regard the situation. This certainly wasn’t how he’d imagined his day to go.

He glanced at his left foot curiously. It didn’t even show the hint of an injury and Fenris was pretty sure he’d felt his bones being crushed; he would at least have expected a rather nasty cut or bruise. Then he remembered the cool, gentle sensation he’d experienced before he fell.

Fenris eyes widened.

“Varric, where’s the mage?” he shouted.

“Are you injured?” Hawke, not Varric, but Fenris was relieved to hear his friend’s voice.

“I am fine. Where’s the mage?”

“Fenris, there’s utter chaos over here right now, give us another moment!”

“I’m right here.”

Fenris froze and whipped his head around. Indeed he could spot Anders only a few steps away, trying to get to his feet. He was on all four, breathing heavily. Next to him was a boulder that seemed to have burst into hundreds of pieces and the elf felt a lingering sense of magic in the air.

He quickly strode over and knelt next to the blond man. “Are you alright?”

“I don’t think so!” Anders replied with a smirk; it was accompanied by a grimace before his arms and legs gave in and he let himself fall to the ground, groaning loudly at the impact.

“Mage…”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll just need a moment,” Anders murmured as he slowly rolled on his back, gasping loudly. “Damn these dwarves and their blighted explosives! Knew Varric shouldn’t have brought that Carta friend of his along.” There was a hitch in his voice and Anders’ hand flew up to clutch at the right side of his chest.

“Heal yourself, mage,” Fenris demanded before returning to the wall separating them from the rest of their friends. “Have you found everyone by now?” he shouted.

“All but Anders,” came Varric’s reply.

“The mage is here with me.”

“Oh good…doesn’t have me worried in the slightest.” Knocking sounds and curses followed Varric’s slightly bemused statement. “We’re getting help. Dwarves know best how to handle stone. Try not to kill each other in the meantime, alright? Blondie, you okay?”

Anders wheezed in reply, still clutching his chest.

“Venhendis, mage, heal yourself already! I will not listen to you moan and bitch just so you can annoy me!” Fenris snapped.

“…can’t…”

Fenris frowned.

“What do you mean, you can’t?”

Another wheeze, then a strangled cough. “Fighting those disgustingly huge spiders already had me low on mana. Getting that rock off me took the last of it.”

Fenris let his eyes wander to the boulder in question. “That…thing fell on you?”

“Crushed me almost completely,” Anders confirmed. His breathing didn’t sound good at all. Shallow, like it took a lot of effort.

Fenris returned to the mage’s side and knelt, checking for injuries. He found a few cuts and bruises, yet nothing that would explained the strained breathing. “How bad is it, mage?”

Amber eyes opened, gazing into his without knowing, since human eyes were not as suited for complete darkness. “I told you not to worry about me, Fenris.”

“Can’t you answer a simple question, mage?” the elf growled. Anders closed his eyes at that, deciding to concentrate on breathing rather than a snappy elf. Fenris scowled at him, but remained beside the other man, listening to the wheezing breaths and the muffled sounds coming from the other side of the wall.

“You probably suffer from internal injuries, if you were buried under that rock,” Fenris eventually spoke up again, calmer now.

“You are probably right.”

Slowly, Fenris extended a hand to run over Anders’ upper body and check if he could feel any broken bones, but the mage’s free hand caught him by the wrist as soon as the elf’s made contact with his body.

“Don’t…don’t touch me.”

Now the elf was slowly growing concerned.

“How bad is it?” he murmured.

“I was crushed by a rock, Fenris. Do the math.”

“Fasta vass!” Fenris jumped up and returned to the wall once again. “The mage is injured!” he yelled. “He is too low on mana to heal himself!”

“Anders?” came Hawke’s concerned voice.

“I’ll be okay,” Anders gritted out. “Just…just give me a moment to restore some mana.”

“Hurry up!” Fenris barked to the people on the other side before turning around once again and searching the ground for the small bag he usually carried with him, containing food, herbs and the occasional potion.

When he finally spotted the bag in question, he grabbed it hurriedly and searched for a bottle.

He was out of luck.

“I don’t have a potion with me,” he murmured.

“Not surprising, since you hardly ever come to the clinic anymore to have me stock you up.”

Fenris paused at that, his gaze slowly travelling to the mage’s almost limp form on the ground. He hadn’t been in the clinic for a while; the last time he’d been there had ended with a lot of confusion on his and discomfort on Anders’ side. He had not been able to look the mage in the eye since, not knowing how to deal with the conflicting emotions.

That kiss. That kiss before they had parted. It…

The elf shook his head and crawled over to the other man.

“Anders.”

“What?”

“How bad is it?”

It was probably meant to be a sigh but out came another wheeze. Amber eyes opened slowly, blinking into the dark, searching for the elf’s face. Fenris slowly extended a hand again, this time to touch the tips of his fingers to the mage’s cheek. The skin there felt cold and Anders had paled visibly over the past few minutes.

“I’m right here,” Fenris murmured.

“So dark,” Anders breathed out. “Way too dark…”

Fenris let his brands light up, surprising himself and the mage. It only spent little light but at least Anders was now able to see Fenris’ face and look him in the eyes.

“Thank you,” Anders whispered. He sounded a little amazed.

“Calm yourself,” Fenris answered. “You need to relax to regain mana faster, mage.”

“And since when do you know what I need to do in order to regain mana faster?” Anders asked with a teasing smile. “Despite what you may believe, you’re not an expert on mages.”

“You’ll recover faster if you stop talking and save your breath”, Fenris growled. The corners of his mouth fought hard to stay down and not offer a smirk in answer.

“You do actually have a point”, the mage conceded, eyes closing once again as he willed his body to relax. Fenris took the chance to really take a look at the mage. Even those beautiful, pink lips had paled by now. For a moment, he was lost in the memory of biting into them, kissing them hard until they were swollen and blood red; remembered their sweet taste when he’d bestowed a gentle kiss on them, all those weeks back.

“Mage.”

“Hm?”

“Stay with me.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The POV changes throughout the chapters. Hope that won't be too confusing.  
> Seeing as English isn't my native tongue, I also apologize in advance for any mistakes found o.o
> 
> Also: What Anders is experiencing/describing is called "Crush Syndrom".
> 
> Thank you all for the kudos and comments! :)

Their friends were taking a break again.

Fenris had been listening intently to the sounds of Hawke and co. trying to clear a path at least big enough for Fenris and Anders to get out, while waiting for Varric to return with help. Often, they had to interrupt because the wall separating them from Fenris and Anders was unstable, boulders rolling down, dust and dirt raining on them; once, Hawke had barely managed to avoid getting hit by a rather large rock.

When they had left Kirkwall, the task ahead had sounded easy enough; slavers had been seen around the Wounded Coast and since Hawke knew Fenris wanted to see every slaver in Thedas dead, he’d suggested they go check it out, find their hideout and get rid of them so the elves in the Alienage – and Fenris – were safe from trouble in the future. They had followed hints and traces leading them to this very cave.

By now, Fenris was sure the slavers had laid them a trap or at least made sure they’d end up misguided; the cave had been full of spiders of all sizes, some poisonous. Halfway through a veritable army of these beasts, Fenris had paused to consider – if slavers were actually occupying this cave, there would be a lot less to no spiders. He hadn’t had any time to let Hawke know of his thoughts; the Carta dwarf accompanying them for the loot had dropped something bomb-like on a group of spiders. The sound of the explosion had made his ears ring for a moment; then everything had happened so fast and now he was trapped behind a wall of unmoving boulders, in the dark and with a badly injured mage lying on the ground next to him.

Anders’ condition had not improved. Fenris wasn’t even sure how long they had been in the cave by now but it had to be at least a few hours. His breathing was still shallow and his skin was ashen. What had Fenris worried the most was the utter silence of the mage; no nervous babbling, no ranting, no smart remarks. He seemed to be concentrating solely on breathing, brows furrowed, eyes closed; only opening whenever Fenris addressed him quietly, to assure the elf he was still conscious.

“Has your mana returned yet?” Fenris murmured when he heard Hawke call for everyone to continue.

“No.”

“It must have been hours since the collapse.”

No answer.

“ _Some_ of your mana should have come back by now,” Fenris pressed on, irritated.

“Not that easy when the body is injured and unable to rest.” Anders’ voice was weak; a chill ran down Fenris’s spine.

“So…it’s possible it won’t come back at all?”

“I told you not to worry.”

“I am not worried, mage!” Fenris snarled. “You know as well as I do that –“

“—you couldn’t care less if I die. I know.”

Fenris inhaled sharply.

“That – I wasn’t - what I meant to say was…”

“And since you don’t,” Anders cut him off, “why don’t you just stop asking?”

Fenris stared at the other man, bewildered. “Mage…I’ve told you before –“ 

“I believe it was under completely different circumstances.”

“Stop interrupting me!”

“Stop talking, blighted elf.” A pained groan. “Please. I can’t do this right now.”

The elf wanted to argue, then decided to abide to the mage’s wish. There was no use in upsetting or stressing the other man any further. Instead, he got up and walked over to the boulders, pressing one ear against them.

“Hawke?” he called.

“How are you holding up over there, Fenris?” Hawke sounded concerned and slightly out of breath.

“I’m fine.”

“Anders?”

Fenris frowned. “Not doing well.”

He could hear Hawke curse. “Whatever happens, Fenris, don’t you dare letting him die!” 

Fenris huffed at the cold stone. “I am not taking orders –“

“It’s not an order, Fenris,” Hawke said desperately. “I am asking you, as a friend, to not let one of my best friends die if you can prevent it. Alright?”

“The mage won’t die,” Fenris growled. “He’s a healer.”

“He’s also only human and apparently still hasn’t regained mana or we wouldn’t be speaking through a wall of boulders or have you telling me he isn’t doing well.”

Again, Fenris huffed but admitted to himself that Hawke had a point. And Fenris wasn’t known to argue valid points.

He bowed his head toward the rocks, even though Hawke wouldn’t be able to see him agree and shuffled back to Anders. He knelt down at the mage’s head before lifting it carefully, causing Anders to groan, before letting the head settle on his knees.

“Will that help?” Fenris asked quietly while he absently brushed a few blond strands away from the blond’s dirt-covered face. “Is it…comfortable?”

Anders hummed. “How are they progressing?”

“Hawke didn’t say.”

“Oh.”

Fenris let his brands light up again before gazing at the other man. Anders’ eyes slowly blinked open. They seemed unfocused as they looked up.

“He is worried about you, mage.”

“I heard him. Glad someone is.” Anders attempted a grin but failed miserably. “How are you doing? You must be thirsty.”

“I’ve endured worse than a bit of thirst.”

This time, Anders did smile. It was weak but it was a smile nonetheless. “I guess, from what you’ve been telling about your time as a slave.”

“Don’t tell me you actually listened to anything I ever said.”

“Every single word.”

Fenris’ gaze softened with wonder.

“Contrary to what you believe, I’m not turning a blind eye or deaf ear to someone who’s been nothing more than a tool, an object to be possessed and shown around like an exotic animal in a cage or on a leash,” Anders murmured, eyes slipping closed again. “No one should ever be someone else’s property. Everyone should be free to make their own choices. And I feel terrible that you had to go through all this at the hand of a mage.”

“Do you now?” Fenris grunted out. “You wouldn’t enjoy having someone at your beck and call?”

“I know what it’s like not to be free, Fenris. Maybe I wasn’t someone’s little precious wolf and bowed to every command given, but I know what it’s like not to be free. To be told to do things that you detest; to be punished for showing weakness, for disobedience or for demanding what is your damn right.” A shaky sigh. “If you had ever actually paid attention to anything I said, which I know you haven’t, you’d know I never denied nor belittled the things that had been done or forced upon you.”

Fenris considered that for a moment.

“It happened to be a mage, a magister, who scarred you for life. So now you hate mages. Had a Qunari done this to you, or a dwarf, you’d hate their kind now.”

“That is –“ Fenris paused.

“And it doesn’t matter to you that they – we – are not all the same. I also understand the anger you feel and the hate that you bottled up inside.” Another weak smile. “I just wished I could have made you see that we’re not all monsters, blood mages-to-be or slavers because contrary to what you think, no, it’s not in our genes. Tevinter has always been known to allow and even entertain slavery. You’re the best example, though, for taking things too far.”

“Mage, why are you telling me all this?” Fenris asked.

“I figured if I am going to die today, I should at least try to make peace with some of the people in my life.” Amber eyes opened to look into green ones, trying desperately to focus. “It’s just your luck that you’re the only person around right now that I can make peace with.”

The elf huffed at that. “You must have hit your head, mage, for you are talking nonesense. You will not die.” He could not help his fingers finding their way into the mage’s blond hair, fingertips gently caressing and massaging. “Fool mage.”

Anders exhaled loudly at that, his body slowly relaxing against the hard, cold ground and under Fenris’ ministrations. “Several bruised muscles and internal bruising, internal bleeding and slow decay of muscle fibers,” Anders murmured. “The blood loss is causing my heart to slow down and has been doing so for a while now.”

Fenris tensed.

“Very soon, I will either go into shock or my kidneys will stop functioning. If you want, we can take bets on which will happen first.”

One hand left the mage’s hair and moved down the side of his neck, feeling for Anders’ pulse. When Fenris finally found it, he was scared to notice how slow it was going indeed. The surprise caused his own heartbeat to speed up until he could hear his own blood humming in his ears.

“Do – do not make jokes like that, mage,” he stuttered.

“Whichever it will be, it’s not going to be pretty.”

“Mage!”

Their eyes met once again; Fenris’ moss green ones were wide with a sudden panic, Anders’ amber ones stared back calmly.

“You look scared,” the mage noticed with a hint of surprise in his voice.

Truth was, Fenris _was_ scared. A sudden panic spread throughout his entire body, speeding up his pulse even more and a cold sweat broke out on his back, making him shiver. There was a nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He had no explanation for either.

“Are you not?” Fenris managed to choke out.

Anders closed his eyes. “I believe I’ve told you before, some things are worse than death, Fenris.”


	3. Chapter 3

“You once said you started to remember things from your past.”

It had gotten way too quiet for Anders’ liking. He knew their friends were trying to figure out the best way to go about freeing Fenris and himself and were taking another break. The healer in him wanted them to not outdo themselves. The very small, selfish part of him wanted them to hurry up, any consequences be damned, and get him out of here.

Anders hated the silence. He hated that Fenris had put some distance between them; he felt cold. He felt lonely.

He was so very, very tired.

As a healer, Anders couldn’t only find even the slightest problem in another’s body and fix it. It also made him all the more aware of the things happening in his own. His heartbeat had slowned concerningly over the past hour, pumping less and less blood through his body, causing muscle to decay and toxins to seep into his blood. It made him feel lightheaded while the internal bleeding was putting pressure on his organs. The sickening sensation of pressure where it didn’t belong had been the only thing he could focus on ever since Fenris had left him alone and had retreated into the suffocating dark. 

“Why do you ask?” Fenris asked in his low, rumbling voice.

“Small talk?”

“I am not here to entertain you while you are regaining mana, mage.”

Anders wasn’t. His injuries were too great and he’d about kill for a healing or lyrium potion right now. A while back, he had wanted to get angry at Fenris for never coming by to have his potions stocked up anymore, _blame_ him that he was going to die now because of that. It had only lasted a brief moment.

Then anger was replaced with acceptance.

“Just…please?” he whispered. “I can’t –“

“Can’t what, mage?”

“I…I don’t deal well with silence and complete darkness.”

Fenris didn’t say anything but Anders could hear him moving and almost sobbed in relief when he felt the elf settle down next to him.

“Solitary.” It wasn’t a question.

“Oh, you did listen that one time, didn’t you?” Anders teased.

Fenris huffed and Anders prayed to whatever Gods would listen that the elf wouldn’t leave his side again.

“I remember my mother. Her face was…well, she didn’t have one in my memories. But I remembered the sound of her voice, her scent and…the color of her hair.”

Anders sighed in relief.

“It was red, like Varania’s. Seeing her made me wonder if she looks exactly like our mother. Maybe that was part of why I got so angry at her; wondering if she looks like my mother and instinctively knowing my mother would have never betrayed me like that.”

Anders remembered that day, at the Hanged Man. They had caused a veritable blood bath in the end and it had taken all of Hawke’s strength to keep Fenris from killing his own sister after ending Danarius. He hadn’t been able to keep in the snide remark about Varania being a mage and he’d felt sorry for it instantly. But Fenris not seeing him again after their last rendezvous at his clinic and refusing to even look at him had hurt and he’d needed an outlet that moment.

“I’m sorry for what happened,” he murmured.

“And just what reason would you have to feel sorry about the events of that day?” Fenris asked.

“She is your sister. The one sure thing of your past, the one person who could have told you everything you forgot and she preferred to betray you for the man that destroyed your family in the first place.” Anders tried to breathe in deeply. The pressure on his lungs was growing steadily. “It just isn’t fair.”

“Life hardly ever is,” the elf remarked. “Surely, your current situation tells you as much.”

“And yet I can still think of worse ways to go than dying during a cave-in.”

Fenris growled. “Stop talking about dying, mage.”

“I don’t understand why you are not more cheerful at the prospect, _elf_.”

Fenris grew silent at that, leaving Anders once again to concentrate on his dying body and breathing. Anders wished he could determine how much longer it would take until the Fade would embrace him fully. He felt so strangely disconnected from it despite the fact that his body was slowly starting to stop functioning properly.

“Why do you believe I wish you dead?” Fenris asked.

“Probably because you’ve threatened to rip my heart out, a couple times, in the past?”

“I – I apologize for that.”

An amused snort escaped Anders. “Don’t go soft on me, Fenris, I’m only dying.”

“You are not and even if that were the case, mage, it would not be a reason for me apologizing.”

“Consider me astounded, then.”

Anders felt Fenris moving even closer. A strong, yet slender hand grabbed his and squeezed it. Anders willed his own fingers to wrap around the smaller hand; it was exhausting, but he managed eventually.

“I’m glad I’m not alone,” he admitted quietly, slightly breathless.

“Is your mana still not returning?”

“No.”

Fenris squeezed his hand again, the grip bordering on painful this time. He could fee the elf’s rapidly beating pulse. Fenris was scared and Anders couldn’t quite figure out why.

“You ignored me, since – that night,” Anders spoke up again. “Why?”

“I would believe you know why.”

“I am sorry I fell asleep on you.” 

That night at his clinic was still incredibly confusing to Anders. A lot of things were hazy at best, but he could remember the way Fenris had first tried to calm, then comfort him. The way the elf had held him close had felt incredible and reminded Anders of the things his life truly lacked and how much he’d lost, joining with Justice, who had neither an understanding nor the patience for needs such as comfort, care or even love. The way Fenris had kissed him, not hungry, bruising but sweet and gentle, like the lover Anders had always wished for, almost shy. It was the last thing Anders remembered before his eyes had slipped closed and he figured he had fallen asleep against Fenris almost instantly after responding to the kiss for a moment.

He’d woken up on his cot, covered with his blankets, his clothes folded together neatly and placed on a nearby chair.

“I wasn’t – I am not upset about that, mage,” Fenris broke Anders out of his thoughts. “You were clearly exhausted and I cannot claim to not have been responsible for that, at least partially.”

“But you _are_ upset about something.”

“Not for the reasons you think and I’d prefer to leave it at that.”

_Do not break the rules_ , Anders, the mage chided himself.

“I missed you.”

That was not what Anders had intended to say. His brain had to be lacking oxygen more than he’d thought up until now.

“You’re talking nonsense, mage. Maybe it’s time for you to get some more rest. I am sure our friends will have us freed very soon. I will not have you blather yourself to exhaustion and die from it, or Hawke will have my head.”

Anders wanted to chuckle but was lacking the breath to do so. The pressure on his chest was increasing. _Not blood_ , Anders thought after reading the signs of his body, _fluid_. His already weak heart was beating irregularly. His legs felt heavy, something he hadn’t been really aware of until now, and swollen.

He smiled sadly to himself. His kidneys started to fail.

“Mage?”

Warm fingertips pressed against his pale, clammy skin, searching for the pulse on his throat. Feeling the irregular beat. Fenris cursed under his breath and lit up his brands so they would see each other in the darkness.

“Mage. What’s going on?” the elf demanded to know.

“I told you, Fenris, I am dying,” Anders replied, his voice hoarse. “I believe my kidneys are failing.”

Fenris didn’t have to be a healer to understand what that meant, the expression on his face everything Anders needed to see to confirm that fact.

“Fasta vass, mage,” Fenris hissed. Anders wondered if Fenris had thought he was joking the entire time.

The elf left his side for a moment to knock against the heavy boulders separating them from the rest of their companions. “Hawke!” Fenris barked. “Answer me.”

“I am right here, Fenris,” Hawke’s calm, muffled reply came. More calm than he felt, Anders was sure. If there was one thing Hawke definitely did too much, it was worry. He always worried about them, even if they were safely in bed at nights. Once, Hawke had used the passage through the cellar of his mansion to check on Anders because he’d had a bad feeling. Anders had been so surprised over his nightly visitor, he’d almost fireballed the man.

“The mage, he…” Fenris paused. “It’s not looking good. You have to hurry.”

“We’re doing everything we can, Fenris,” Hawke promised from the other side. “Try to keep him conscious. Alright? Don’t let him fall asleep.” Now he didn’t sound as calm anymore.

For some reason, it made Anders smile, eyes falling closed when it seemed like too much effort to keep them open any longer.

He’d been in terrible situations before – just never had someone who took an interest in it or was concerned for his well being. Coming to Kirkwall had cost a lot, admittedly, but he wouldn’t trade his life here for anything. Not after making so many wonderful friends that stood by him, even if he screwed up; friends that cared and looked after him as much as he looked after them.

Every sacrifice he’d made in the past, it had been worth it. For this.

“Anders,” Hawke addressed him directly now. “If you even dare thinking of dying, be assured I’ll follow you into the Fade and kick your ass for it. Repeatedly.”

The delighted laugh died in his throat, the pressure on his chest was simply too much. Yet his smile widened at these words. He might have cursed about it, but accompanying Hawke to the Deep Roads shortly after they had met had been the best idea he’d ever had. It had formed a bond between the warrior and him that could not be shaken, no matter what.

He’d miss him terribly. All of them. Hawke. Varric. Aveline. Isabela. Even Merrill, blood mage or not.

“Mage.”

And that blighted, _ridiculously perfect_ elf…

“Mage?” Fenris sounded gentle when he returned to his spot next to Anders, a warm hand coming to rest against his cheek. “Open your eyes.”

Anders did so, with some effort. Emerald eyes looked sad, openly honest and – to his surprise – a little desperate. Anders couldn’t remember ever having seen so many emotions in those green depths.

“Stay with me.”


	4. Chapter 4

The noise had increased. Varric had finally returned with a few dwarves who now seemed to make short work of the wall separating Fenris and Anders from them, barking orders.

Anders was lying on his side by now. Fenris had carefully rolled him over when the mage had let him known he was feeling very sick. There was the risk of Anders choking on his on vomit. Fenris had felt terrible for having to touch him and push him to roll on his side, as the mage now seemed in a very significant amount of pain. Nothing happened apart from some dry heaving.

The mage’s breath was labored, interrupted now and then by a heavy cough that did nothing to relief the pressure on his chest. Occasionally, his body shook, trembling under the hand Fenris kept on the mage’s shoulder. Anders’ eyes were closing again, so Fenris growled at him.

“Stay awake, mage.”

“I know I have to,” Anders replied in a strained voice. “But I’m so tired, Fenris.”

“It won’t take long now,” Fenris rasped.

“You need water.”

“I don’t think you’re in any condition to worry about anyone but yourself right now.”

“I’m a healer, I always worry about everyone but myself.”

Despite himself, Fenris smiled at that. A small smile, granted, but still a smile. “That might be your one great weakness, mage.” He almost sounded fond.

“And here I thought you believe me weak in general. Waiting for the perfect moment to succumb to blood magic or give the ‘demon’ inside me free reign over my body and burn down the entire city of Kirkwall.”

Carefully, Fenris climbed over Anders’ body, then lay down beside him so he could face the mage. Anders quirked an eyebrow at him. His eyes barely focused anymore but there was still recognition in them.

“I believe you have proven more than once that you are not weak. The mages I have known before coming to Kirkwall would have long but given up trying to control the demon inside them. You, though, sometimes lose yourself in your anger and your…spirit…uses that against you.” Fenris lifted a hand, cupping Anders’ cheek once again, thumb carefully caressing over the pale skin. “I have thought about what you said earlier. That it doesn’t matter who would have enslaved me, I’d hate the entire race. It’s not linked to mages being corrupted. It could have been Qunari or dwarves, indeed. I find I must agree with you on that.”

“That’s a first,” Anders said appreciatively. 

“I also believe,” Fenris rambled on, “that you would have hated living in Tevinter. I wouldn’t put it past you to engineer a revolt to free every single slave.” He paused. “Just like you are doing for the mages.”

“I believe you may be correct about that.” Anders sounded distant now. Fenris gave the cheek he caressed a slap, startling the mage.

“Meeting you, I have believed you embody everything I despise, proving how corrupted and thirsty your kind is for power.”

“Fenris…”

“And all you have done in the years of knowing you is proving me wrong.”

Fenris inched closer, their noses almost touching.

“But you care. You care a lot, sometimes too much, mage. You put the needs of others above your own and work yourself to exhaustion, may it be for the sick and poor in Darktown, the mage underground or your companions. It is very hard to ignore that fact, even for me, no matter how much I try.”

“I think this is the most you’ve ever said to me,” Anders pointed out, the ghost of a smile on his pale lips. “You going soft on me in the moment of my death, Fenris? That is…sweet?”

“Mage, focus.” Fenris lifted his other hand, cupping Anders’ slender face fully. “Keep your gaze on mine and do not close your eyes.”

“I wonder…” Anders murmured, eyes once again threatening to fall closed. “Had the circumstances been different…do you think it would have been different between us?”

Fenris frowned. “That is – we may discuss that some other time.”

“I’m afraid we will not.” Anders was smiling. It started slowly, spreading across the blond’s features, even reaching his glassy eyes. “Would have loved to, though.”

“Mage. Anders!” Fenris dug his fingernails into the soft skin of the other man’s face, but Anders didn’t seem to notice the sharp pain. “Focus!”

“Fenris?”

Varric’s voice sounded close. So very close. It made Fenris’ heart skip a beat, relief flooding through him.

“Hurry!” Fenris yelled at the stone wall. “Fasta vass, what is taking you so damn long?”

“Stay calm, elf, we’re almost through,” Varric informed. He sounded irritated. “Give us just another minute.”

“The mage doesn’t _have_ another minute, dwarf!” Fenris snapped, then glanced at Anders’ slender, pale face. Lips parted slightly as his lungs kept fighting for each intake of breath. His eyes had closed while Fenris had been distracted by Varric and he cursed in Tevene before slapping Anders’ cheek once again.

“Anders. Say something.”

_Don’t you dare, mage._

“Please.”

A strange, unknown feeling began to unfold in his stomach when he received no answer from the mage, nor a reaction to the slap.

“Anders!” Fenris shook the limp form, the relief he’d felt only moments before giving way to white-hot terror burning in his chest like fire, taking his breath away. Anders couldn’t be. Fenris had kept an eye on him, Anders couldn’t just have…

Slowly, Fenris’ lifted his head, his dry lips finding the mage’s for a gentle kiss. A choked sound escaped his mouth, his chest tightening. “I’m begging you, mage,” Fenris said breathlessly. “I’m _begging_ you, Anders. _Please._ Open your eyes.”

It felt like their night on the clinic’s floor, Fenris thought, remembering how he’d tried to get a reaction out of the mage then, who was shaking and crying, not even noticing the wounds Fenris had caused by accident, the hot blood running down his back and pooling on the ground. Remembered the warm, naked body he’d held close, warm and alive and comforting; the kiss they had shared, a tenderness in it he hadn’t known he possessed or they’d be able to give one another.

The way Anders had become pliant and unresisting until his head had dropped on Fenris’ shoulder, the mage falling asleep in his arms. He’d looked so peaceful. _Beautiful._

Every single night since, Fenris had wished for that to happen again and realizing so had made him recoil at the mere idea of something so intimate and stay away from the mage entirely.

He had been so wrong, not giving into that need, for that very same body felt cold and lifeless in his arms now.

A crack and a ray of light flooded the darkness surrounding them. Fenris blinked at it, exhausted and scared for the man in his arms, his lips now pressed against a cold, clammy forehead.

“Almost through,” Varric let him know, the sound of his voice not muffled for the first time in hours and Fenris exhaled shakily against Anders’ forehead.

“Please.” Another choked sound escaped him. Fenris realized he was on the verge of sobbing. “Anders, don’t do this.” He wrapped his arms around the mage’s body and held him close, his ear pressed against the mage’s chest, searching for a heartbeat, no matter how weak, no matter how slow, it _had_ to be there.

“Don’t do this to me, blighted mage,” Fenris pleaded. “Open your damn eyes. Don’t…don’t leave me alone.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was brought to my attention by my email inbox that some people are biting nails, screaming and almost dying.  
> Please don't? :3 In other words, thanks for the comments and kudos haha. On we go then, let's see what happens, shall we?
> 
> Oh yes, Fenris' "Tevene" is shamelessly stolen and been corrupted from Latin (and, of course, from the game itself). It's probably also mostly wrong, please bear with me. Translations are found at the bottom!

Fenris was caught by surprise when a pair of strong hands suddenly gripped him, then pulled him away from Anders’ lifeless form. He struggled for a second before he became aware of Hawke looking at him worriedly and handing him a flask.

“Drink, Fenris,” Hawke ordered him, gently but firmly. He was covered in dirt and dried blood and looked every bit as exhausted as Fenris felt. “You must be dehydrated and I will not have Anders complain to me later that I didn’t do a good job of taking care of you while he couldn’t.”

“Anders is…” Fenris’ voice caught.

“He’s taken care of, Fenris. Drink.”

Hawke patted his shoulder before giving him a gentle push to make room for Varric and Merrill tending to the mage. Fenris stumbled backwards and froze, hand clutching the flask tightly as he stared at his three friends and companions trying to make Anders respond to them while forcing one potion after the other down the mage’s throat. He remembered stumbling earlier and falling when the cave had collapsed on them; he knew the cool, gentle feeling coursing through his body right after had been the mage’s healing magic. Anders had healed him often enough in battle to recognize the feeling.

He hadn’t just stumbled and fallen when the cave collapsed, Fenris then remembered. He had been _pushed_. Anders had pushed him away. Or maybe _out_ of the way?

“Come on, Anders,” Fenris head Merrill pipe up. “Breathe. Breathe for me. Allow the potion to work. You can do it.”

The mage wasn’t breathing anymore. Fenris felt cold all of a sudden. 

“He can’t be that far gone yet,” Merrill said to something Varric asked her. It all sounded distant to Fenris, like he was caught in a foggy dream. “His injuries are pretty severe, though.”

“Fenris?”

The elf blinked at Hawke. The human grabbed his shoulders and shook him gently. “Fenris, can you hear me?”

_Don’t be gone._

“How long has Anders been…unconscious?”

Fenris swallowed against the suffocating lump in his throat. “He…we were talking until Varric…”

Hawke nodded at him before returning to Anders, sitting behind the mage to keep him upright. Anders remained motionless, his body sagging against Hawke’s strong frame.

“Come on, Blondie,” Varric murmured, one calloused hand against Anders’ forehead. “Come on, _breathe_.”

Fenris had to turn his gaze away. His hands were shaking violently, and the white-hot terror he’d experienced earlier was back full force, spreading like fire through his entire body and leaving him breathless, a strangled sound escaping his lips. He had done everything; everything within his power and he hadn’t been able to save his mage, to keep him alive long enough to be rescued. He’d failed. 

“Fenris?”

Hawke’s gentle voice caused his eyes to fill with hot tears and Fenris forced himself to take a couple deep breaths to stop them from spilling.

“I – I did…I have…” he stuttered.

“Fenris…”

“I did everything you said Hawke. He was with me, the entire time he was with me, I kept him talking to me…”

“Fenris, it’s alright.” There was confusion in Hawke’s words. “You’ve done everything you could, I’m sure…”

Fenris shook his head violently. 

It was a dire mistake. A sob broke out of him and a first burning hot, salty tear stole its way across his cheek, linging on the sharp edge of his chin before falling to the ground. 

“He might be in shock,” Merrill said softly. “It would be good if you took him outside, Hawke. Seeing the daylight and getting some fresh air in his lungs will help.”

Hawke’s hands came to rest on his shoulders and Fenris found himself recoiling violently at the touch, almost knocking Hawke off his feet as he shoved him away, then rushed past him, his feet carrying him over to where Varric and Merrill sat by Anders’ side.

He grabbed Anders’ shoulders, pulling him up into a sitting position once again and shook him forcefully.

“What in Andraste’s name is wrong with you, elf?” Varric shouted, but Fenris barely heard him.

“Open your eyes, Anders,” he snapped at the mage. His vision continued to blur, the more tears filled his eyes before running down his cheeks. “You cannot _do_ this to me!”

Varric moved to tear Fenris away from Anders, only to be stopped by Hawke with a tight grip on his shoulders and a shake of his head.

Fenris pulled Anders’ body tightly against his when sobs caused his body to tremble, burying his face into the crook of the mage’s neck. “Aperi oculos tuos,” he begged between sobs, not even noticing that he’d slipped into Tevene. He felt someone move around him; his nose caught the scent of elfroot and blood magic. 

_Merrill._

Fenris tensed, ready to fight her off, but she simply took one of Anders’ hands, letting magic flow into the human’s body. It felt strong and sharp, like lightening, coursing through Anders’ and causing Fenris’ brands to light up in reaction. Hot, salty tears soaked the collar of the blond’s feather pauldron and Fenris finally lost the fight of trying to hold it back, crying and sobbing openly against the mage’s neck, his hands tightening their hold on Anders.

“Suscito, mi amatus,” Fenris rasped when he was finally able to speak again, the heavy feeling on his chest easing with each sob he allowed to escape his throat. “Pervivo.”

“Why do I get the feeling I am missing something here?” Varric muttered.

“Again”, Fenris heard Merrill say before she sent another spell through Anders’ body, stronger than the one before. This time, Anders’ body reacted by jerking weakly and if it hadn’t been for his sensitive elven ears and their closeness, Fenris would have not heard the sound coming from the mage’s lips.

“Denuo, Merrill,” Fenris rasped. “Again. Do that again. Stronger.”

Merrill pursed her lips, a concentrated look on her face. Fenris moved to the side, allowing the blood mage to rest her hand against Anders’ sternum and cast the spell again. A look of hope crossed Hawke’s and Varric’s faces when a frown crossed Anders’ features.

Fenris held his breath.

“Again!”

A strong pulse of magic, strong enough to actually cause Fenris pain, shot through Anders, his entire body jerking hard. The blond’s eyes flew open, staring at the ceiling, unseeing. 

Then Anders’ mouth opened and released the most tormented scream that Fenris could remember ever hearing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Aperi oculos tuos = Open your eyes  
> Suscito, mi amatus = Wake up, my beloved  
> Pervivo = Survive/Live  
> Denuo = Again


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaand...we've come to the end. Possibly. Maybe?  
> Translations found at the bottom once again!

Anders looked lost in Hawke’s huge bed, the warrior noticed with a smile. His arms and back were still sore from carrying the mage all the way to the city; since leaving Anders on his own hadn’t been an option, they had all voted to bring him to Hawke’s estate instead and have him sleep in a proper bed, in a warm room.

Color was slowly returning to the mage’s face as he slept, which put Hawke at ease. Merrill had stayed close and was now passed out in an armchair next to the bed. Hawke wondered, bemused, how Anders would react to a blood mage having shocked him back to life. Not that Anders had ever been openly hostile toward the Dalish elf, but it was safe to say he’d been reserved and annoyed with her naïve nature when it came to making deals with demons in the Fade.

The Champion of Kirkwall left the bedroom and headed downstairs to find something to eat in the kitchen. He met Varric in the entrance hall, where he warming his hands by the fireside. He had freshened up some in the bath while Hawke had seen to Anders. 

The dwarf wasn’t supposed to be alone, though.

“Where is he?” Hawke asked.

“Wine cellar,” Varric replied with a snort and a crooked grin.

Hawke chuckled and shook his head with a sigh.

“How’s Blondie holding up?”

“He’s looking better and better. Seems his healing magic is slowly returning and taking care of what Merrill and the potions couldn’t do.”

“That’s a relief.” Varric sighed deeply and smiled a Maker to honest smile. “Even though I know some things can’t be prevented, losing Blondie would be…terrible.”

“The tall little brother you never had, huh?” the warrior teased and Varric barked out a laugh.

“Something like that.”

Hawke nodded, then inclined his head toward the kitchen. “Why don’t you check if Orana can’t fix something together for us. I’ll join you shortly.”

“You really wanna go down there, Hawke? Broody seems beside himself.”

“Well, this is my estate. And I could use with a glass of wine before going to bed. It’s been a very long and exhausting day.” Hawke scratched his beard and shrugged.

“And yet sleep is still so far from my mind…” Varric stretched his short limbs. “I’ll see about some late dinner then.”

*

Hawke found Fenris with his hands braced against the wall, head lowered, his chin almost resting against his collarbone, when he entered the wine cellar. The elf seemed concentrated on taking deep breaths to calm himself, but the trembling hands, the shaking shoulders and the soft gasps and sobs coming from him told Hawke that he wasn’t succeeding.

Wordlessly, Hawke reached for a bottle of wine, uncorked it and took a long sip before approaching Fenris slowly and offering the bottle to him.

“Here. This will help your nerves to calm a little.”

“I do not need to be coddled,” Fenris whispered.

“I am not coddling you. Alcohol does have that effect. A fact I believe you are well aware of, seeing how often I have found you drunk in your mansion in the past.”

Fenris seemed indecisive for a moment before slowly pushing himself away from the wall and sink down on the small wooden bench near a beer keg, drawing his legs up, arms wrapping around them and buried his face against his knees. Hawke took another sip before joining Fenris on the bench.

For a long while, none of them spoke.

“I…wasn’t aware Anders came to mean that much to you,” Hawke eventually spoke up, keeping his tone gentle.

“Don’t.” Not a demand; more like a plea.

“He made it, Fenris. He’s looking better and better with each passing moment and I have no doubt he’ll soon wake up and be his mage-y self. Alright?”

_“Don’t.”_

Hawke sighed and took another sip of wine.

“Fenris, if you were actually still willing to fight whatever it is between you and Anders, you wouldn’t be hiding away in my wine cellar, crying your heart out.”

The elf sobbed softly in reply.

“Not to mention that I strongly believe that you are needed elsewhere right now.” Tentatively, Hawke lifted a hand and placed it on the elf’s slender shoulder. “Clean up, change clothes. Join Varric and me in the kitchen to get some food and most importantly some water – or wine – into you. There’s a really big bed upstairs that has easily room for more than just one recovering mage and that’s exactly where I think you should sleep tonight.”

Fenris’ head shot up at that, green eyes attempting to glare at Hawke, who stared right back, impassively.

“It will give Anders comfort and the knowledge that someone’s there to keep watch over him. It will help his recovery.”

“Will he?” Fenris murmured. “Recover? Fully?”

“I’m sure his healing abilities will make sure of that,” Hawke confirmed with a nod. “It will take a few days, but Anders is…” His lips curved into a smile. “…rather hard to kill.”

“Not as hard as one might think.”

Hawke frowned.

“He was slowly dying, Hawke. Right next to me.” _In my arms._ “Slowly and painfully and he was aware of every single step of the way. I watched him the entire time and there was nothing I—“ Fenris broke off. 

“You sound like you’re blaming yourself for what happened.”

“I – I believe the mage…”

“Anders.”

Fenris exhaled slowly. “… _Anders_ …somehow possessed the wits to push me ouf the way or else I would have been the one crushed beneath the boulder that caused his injuries. How, I cannot explain.”

“That still doesn’t make any of what happened your fault, Fenris.” Hawke dared to wrap his arm around the elf’s smaller frame and pull him against his side. “Anders always keeps an eye out for all of us. Whether this is due to his being a healer, Justice’s influence or a trait of his very own, unique personality, I don’t know. I just know he does. Constantly.”

“You and the mage – _Anders_ – have something in common then.”

Hawke chuckled. “It would seem so.”

“He was…calm.” Fenris drew in a shaky breath. “He was hurting, slowly dying and yet remained calm. Accepting. Kept telling me not to worry, like he didn’t want me to –“

“That’s Anders for you,” Hawke confirmed with a nod. “Even on the brink of death, he’d want to comfort the ones around him instead of asking to be comforted. I don’t think he ever thought anyone _would_ worry about him because no one ever has, until now.

“I know something shifted in the dynamic between the two of you, months ago already,” Hawke continued; he felt Fenris stiffen in his hold. “I will not ask. What I know, though, is that Anders almost died today protecting you from a very nasty rock, you broke down and scared the Void out of me and now you are sitting in my wine cellar and still can barely hold yourself together.” He glanced at Fenris and smiled at the red rimmed eyes and the tear tracks on the elf’s cheeks. “I will, however, ask you do as I suggested. Bathe, eat and drink something and get some rest. You do Anders no good if you hide down here.”

*

The last time Fenris had felt this tired, this incredibly exhausted, he’d been on his run from Danarius. Barely stopping to sleep, eat or just a moment to breathe, he’d kept going for days until his body decided to give in; no matter how determined his mind was, he hadn’t been able to keep moving and had collapsed, falling asleep almost instantly and wondering if someone would find him and if he’d ever wake up again.

Fenris couldn’t remember how long he’d slept, if it had only been a few hours, half a day or maybe even several days, but when he’d woken up, he was still in the very same spot, unharmed and free. His very first taste of freedom, a memory he’d cherished since.

Stew and wine warmed his belly as Hawke accompanied him upstairs, obviously worried the elf would otherwise collapse on the staircase and break his neck in the process. He was wearing a simple linen shirt Hawke had given him for the night. It was way too big for Fenris, hanging haphazardly off one slender shoulder.

“I would ask a favor, Hawke,” Fenris murmured tiredly when they reached the top of the stairs, grabbing the warrior’s arm.

“Of course.”

“You will –“ Fenris swallowed. “— not speak of this to the mage.”

“Of what exactly?”

“My…behavior.”

Hawke quirked an eyebrow at the elf. 

“You will _not_ say anything.” Moss green eyes were hard when they met Hawke’s gaze. “Whatever I wish to tell the mage, and when, is my decision. You were right, you don’t know what it is that – changed dynamics between Anders and I, so believe me when I tell you it is best you don’t utter a syllable about it.” Fenris paused and took a deep breath. “Please.”

Hawke just hummed – whether in agreement or not, Fenris couldn’t tell and it didn’t matter when they finally reached the bed chambers.

 

Merrill awoke as the two men entered and rubbed her eyes, stifling a yawn before offering Hawke and Fenris a smile. “You look exhausted, lethallin. Sleep will do you good.”

Fenris froze as soon as they crossed the threshold, gaze fixed on Anders’ sleeping form. Took in the slightly flushed cheeks, the pale pink of the mage’s lips and the slow rise and fall of his chest.

“And a warm meal will do you good, Merrill,” Hawke said with a smile. “Why don’t you come with me to the kitchen?”

Merrill’s gaze darted to Anders, then Fenris, before she nodded, smiling again. “Did Orana cook?”

“Stew!” Hawke confirmed with a chuckle.

“Oh, I liked her stew the last time!”

Fenris could still hear Merrill babbling away excitedly as she followed Hawke downstairs and wondered briefly if every mage in Thedas, human or elven, blathered this much. It _would_ explain why the Qunari had decided to sew the mouths of their Sareebas shut.

Slowly, almost cat-like despite his body being sore, Fenris climbed on the bed and up; he remained on the covers as he lay down next to Anders, sighing in relief when he heard the even breaths, strong and vital, just like the pulse beating beneath his fingertips when he placed them against Anders’ throat.

The touch made Anders stir and Fenris withdrew his hand quickly.

“Non suscito, mi magus,” Fenris whispered. “You need to rest.” He leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to Anders’ lips. “Somnia quieta,” he continued against the soft, warm mouth. “Recupero et redeo ad me.”

Anders hummed in his sleep and Fenris found himself smiling at the mage when he inched a little closer still, burying his face in the crook of the elf’s neck and inhaling deeply.

His lips moved against the elf’s skin and Fenris shivered at the feeling. Fenris was almost asleep himself when he noticed that the movement of Anders’ lips weren’t some unconscious attempt of tenderness; the mage’s lips formed the same words over and over and Fenris found himself slowly pulling back.

“Anders?”

Anders’ lips stopped moving then and he took a deep breath, one hand slowly lifting to press against Fenris’ chest. Fenris frowned, covering the hand with his own.

“Anders? What is it?” he asked, squeezing the hand in his grasp. Again, the mage’s lips moved, mouthing the same words they had wordlessly murmured into the elf’s neck a moment before. Fenris leaned in, touching their foreheads together. Again, Anders spoke in his sleep but this time, the elf was able to make out the words spilling from those addictive lips:

“Recedemus daemonem.”

Sleep did not find Fenris that night.

 

\---

to be continued?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Non suscito, mi magus – Do not wake, my mage  
> Somnia quieta – Peaceful dreams  
> Recupero et redeo at me – Recover and return to me  
> Recedemus daemonem – Begone, demon.


End file.
